"...James Wigderson takes on local and state issues with intelligence and humor. Even those who disagree with Wigderson respect his thoughtfulness and grasp of political matters." Waukesha Freeman "Community members and columnists help make award-winning Opinion Page" February 5, 2009

My wife does not believe that breakfast in bed is a reward for Mom. The idea of trying to balance a breakfast tray while the children are bouncing on the bed is horrifying enough. Add the likely quality of the breakfast (scrambled eggs that crunch, cold toast, raw breakfast sausage, nearly fermented orange juice found in the back of the refrigerator) and the food competition with two large dogs, and my wife starts thumbing through Dante’s Inferno to find out in which circle of hell she’s landed.

Then she’ll adjourn to the kitchen to discover Dad and the children had attempted to make chocolate chip pancakes first, but that ended in failure (though it does explain the sugar-wired children with brown faces). The sink is newly filled with more dishes than the mess tent for Patton’s army. The stove has a mixture of instant batter and the eggs from breakfast, mixed with milk and syrup to form a concrete-like substance that might require dynamite.

So the past few years, I’ve made the decision that "the family will take Mom to brunch." My wife is a good sport and goes along with it, knowing I mean well.

This year my wife is working, and the person going out to brunch with the kids is me. I'm taking my son and daughter to brunch to see their grandma and grandpa Wigderson, and my brother and his wife.

My son is just now beginning to understand family holidays and family gatherings. My daughter will be happy just to see smiling faces and to eat something different for breakfast. She'll get to show off her new phrases, "Hi," "Whachadoing?" "Why?" and "Yes!"

Mass runs late (damn longwinded priest) and the family is late to the restaurant where they are subjected to a one hour wait (they were told a half hour). When they are finally seated, the buffet tables are pointed out for them. And then quick as a shot Dad is up there before Mom can say, “Will you watch the children while I go fix their plates?” Eventually Dad comes back carrying a plate with enough food to feed the aforementioned Patton’s army, but nothing that would feed Mom or the children.

So Mom makes her way to the buffet that has been well-picked-clean by the other families that didn’t go to church (damn heathens, damn priest). She manages to find enough fruit and cold cereal to feed the children and returns to the table just in time to see Dad going back to the buffet for dessert. Mom feeds her young (made even more annoying by hunger, and what-do-you-mean-you-don’t-like-puffed-rice-cereal?) while waiting for Dad to return. Upon his triumphant return THIS time he remembers the children and feeds them all sorts of sugary sweets while the healthy food Mom picked out gets rudely shoved aside.